


stay

by isloremipsumafterall



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:52:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isloremipsumafterall/pseuds/isloremipsumafterall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos stops by to visit Constance after the events that transpired with Milady in season one, things change from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay

It was strange in a way, she had expected d’Artagnan to come – or even Athos given their past friendship – but Porthos standing at the edge of her yard and awkwardly shuffling his bandana around in gloved hands hadn’t even been something she had considered.

 

Jacques was thankfully away buying fabric and Constance sighed, stepping out the door and into the yard.

 

“You really shouldn’t be here and if you’ve come because d’Artagnan asked you to then tell him my answer is still the same,” Her voice only wavered slightly on that but she didn’t choke on the words like she had before, the hurt was still there and she tried her best to once again bury it.

 

Porthos shook his head, pressing his lips together and it reminded her of when he had so clearly wanted to say something to her the day she rushed into the garrison looking for d’Artagnan but he hadn’t met her eyes.

 

“Porthos?” She frowned, suddenly concerned, “Has something gone wrong?” She swallowed back the edge of worry, that perhaps someone had been hurt – or worse.

 

“It’s not that,” Porthos finally said, sighing, “I’m sorry Constance.” He winced, like he shouldn’t have said that and shuffled on his feet, still not looking at her.

 

“Porthos,” She began, voice low in warning, resting her hands on her hips.

 

He held a hand up in apology again, shoulders falling slightly, and then mumbled, “Sorry we didn’t go after you.”

 

She blinked in surprise and opened her mouth just to shut it again with a click, looking over Porthos once more and then Constance smiled. She knew that guilt, she’d seen it on Porthos before when they had let the soldiers march Athos away from the courtyard and they’d done nothing but stand there.

 

The idea that he had let a fellow soldier – a friend – down.

 

“Come inside,” She told him, reaching up to rest her hand on his bicep, catching his eye and smiling tiredly. “We’ll talk about it then.”

 

He followed her with only the slightest bit of trepidation and when the door shut behind him and she went to grab some wine he stood there until she pointedly glanced between him and the table.

 

“It won’t attack you,” She told him, slightly teasing and it felt good to be able to jest in front of someone again. She’d hidden herself away in her home for weeks now and saying such things in front of Jacques would only have her ignored even more.

 

Porthos snorted his amusement and took a seat and she followed suit, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him and pushing the wine in his direction. Surprisingly he held up his hand to refuse it. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes until Constance sighed, “Porthos you are going to have to say something.”

 

He shrugged, mouth twitching up slightly in a small smile, “Not always the best with words.”

 

“You do fine,” She assured him, “At least you say what you mean.”

 

His smile widened at that and Constance realized just then how much she had missed them, not just Porthos but all of them in her lives. It had been so much quieter and dull, even if she had ignored the whirlwind romance she shared with d’Artagnan life before with the Musketeers in it had always been interesting to say the least.

 

“Constance,” Porthos began, looking at her earnestly, “Are you happy?”

 

“No,” She said before she could think and then groaned, “I mean – that is.” Her shoulders fell and she sighed, “No, Porthos. But you cannot tell d’Artagnan and the others that.” She informed him sharply, “This is my choice and my life.”

 

He looked a little heartbroken but nodded, frowning all the while. “That’s your decision. I just- wanted you to know we’re here.”

 

She reached over the table to rest her hand on Porthos’, squeezing it lightly in thanks, “I do appreciate that Porthos.” She said quietly and smiled somewhat forlornly, “For what it’s worth I do wish there was something that could be done, but I am a woman in a man’s world.” Her gaze fell away, “It is not easy.”

 

Porthos grunted softly and Constance looked over at him again, meeting not pity in his eyes but complete understanding. It was something d’Artagnan hadn’t fully grasped, even though he knew the price of having little money in the world he did not see the hierarchy and struggle that had forced Constance to back down. Porthos however had felt that struggle in a different way, battled against it and managed to make something of himself.

 

“Jacques will be back soon,” She said, withdrawing away to remind herself that this comradery between them would be gone all too soon, “And you don’t owe me an apology Porthos, I do understand.”

 

Porthos seemed jolted by her words and actions, opening his mouth before shutting it with a click and frowning deeply, “Constance if Jacques is…if he’s doing anything.” Porthos sounded too angry to go on, his hand coming to rest at his sword as though to finish his thoughts.

 

“It’s nothing,” Constance lied and she could tell Porthos knew. “It’s nothing.” She said again to assure him as well. Porthos didn’t look swayed one bit and though he held the same passion that d’Artagnan did his temper wasn’t altered by her words, nor did he storm out in his anger. “Porthos,” She began, voice low in warning.

 

“Constance,” He merely replied, with none of the easy going jovialness that she was used to from Porthos.

 

She saw then that Porthos wouldn’t let this go, not unless she straightforwardly asked him to and even then perhaps it would haunt him. Doing that felt harder however, now that she had more time to process her situation and wasn’t running on adrenaline still from the encounter with Milady.

 

“Stay,” She said, so quietly she couldn’t be certain he’d heard her. “Please.”

 

His brown eyes met hers, serious and caring all at once and it made her breath hitch in her throat that someone out there still could look at her like that.

 

Jacques arrival broke their staring and he stood at the doorway gaping at them, “What are you doing here Musketeer?” He said loudly, demanding and tried to puff himself up.

 

It was no use because when Porthos stood Jacques looked very small next to him.

 

“I’ve decided to rent a room,” Porthos tilted his head, grinning wolfishly and Constance bit her lip so she did not laugh at the way Jacques face paled in horror. “Constance was kind enough to ensure a reasonable price.”

 

When Jacques turned to look at her Constance stuck out her chin, feeling once more the rush of bravery in herself that she had squashed in the face of societal expectations. It didn’t seem so hard to with Porthos standing for her, aware of how hard those could be and willing to challenge them anyway.

 

“Of course,” Jacques relented, there was no way he could refuse Porthos, not with the way the musketeer was resting his hand easily on his sword and bore a dangerous look in his eyes. Jacques muttered something about preparing at room and cost and stumbled out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them.

 

Very suddenly Constance began to laugh, a weight of her shoulders like she hadn’t felt in a long time. “I don’t believe that will last,” She said sadly once she stopped, but was still smiling at Porthos.

 

Porthos shrugged, “We’ll figure something out then. Won’t be leaving you to the wolves.” Porthos said and whether the wolf was Jacques or something else entirely it didn’t need to be said.

 

She stood, standing in front of him and didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around his waist, pressing a cheek to the cool leather of his jacket. He took a second and then wrapped her in a warm encompassing hugs, strong arms locked around her that weren’t keeping her captive and was rather captivating. He reached down slowly to press his cheek to her hair, mumbling a word of encouragement to her.

 

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she pulled back, reminded of how not so long ago d’Artagnan had done the same. Something about this was different however, not the same as the moment before. Porthos’ hand still rested on her back, a warm comfort that offered nothing but surety.

 

In that moment she felt safe, herself again, and with Porthos next to her she felt like she could take on the world. It was an exhilarating feeling that had her cheeks flushing as she contained her laughter. Porthos didn’t even bother, letting out a booming laughter that filled the room and made him look roguish in a way she hadn’t thought of before.

 

Porthos’ fingers brushed by her own and it was all too easy for her to grasp them. The future would dwell on them later of course, but Constance had a feeling that it would turn out for the better, something to look forward to rather than dread.

 

 

**Epilogue (one year later):**

 

The house without Jacques might have felt far too empty for even Constance despite how she had come to hate him, but Porthos’ presence filled that void all too long ago as he helped her pack up Jacques things.

 

His death at the hands of an assassin in the palace had come to a shock that she had needed time to adjust to and when d’Artagnan had come to her she’d surprised even herself by refusing his company.

 

Porthos watched her from across the room without a word as he hoisted another crate in his hands, carrying it to the corner where Constance would have Jacques cousin pick it up from.

 

“That’s the last of it,” He stated, shuffling slightly, “If you need me to return to the garrison…”

 

She looked up sharply at his request, realizing that he was offering to give her the time and space she required but the idea of living without him now left her feeling cold. Over the course of the year Porthos had been more than welcome companion, teaching her to duel still while they avoided Jacques watchful eye, making her laugh at old stories, even bringing her to the court of miracles to meet Flea on one momentous occasion.

 

“No,” She said softly, reaching out take his hand and pulling him closer to her, she looked up at him, pleading him to understand what was going on her head. “Stay.”

 

And like before, like all that time ago where he stood by her side, Porthos’ shoulders relaxed and he nodded, pulling her back in for a hug and this time when he pressed a kiss to hair Constance drew him closer. She knew that they could weather this situation too, together and in only a matter of time.


End file.
